


Baby Steps

by dyingpoet



Series: Sprace one shots [43]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff, M/M, Touch-Starved, race is dramatic and wants to help his poor touch starved bf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 03:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18307340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet
Summary: Race had a hunch about Spot, and takes it upon himself to see if it's true





	Baby Steps

**Author's Note:**

> ayyy this was done for a trade w @ok-but-what-about-connor on tumblr!!! hope u like it bb!!!

Race had spent years rolling his eyes at Spot’s whole ‘King of Brooklyn’ shtick. He knew it was all for appearance, and it created enough respect surrounding him that Brooklyn didn’t have nearly as much trouble as the other boroughs. It worked for him. But, Race was starting to realize there were a few kinks in the system.

“Hiya Spot!” 

Race shut the door to Spot’s room, cutting off the wall of sound that came with Brooklyn lodging as he walked over to Spot’s bed and sat down.

Spot was splayed out with his arm over his eyes, only moving it once Race sat down to give him a nod. “Hey Racer.”

“You tired or somethin’?” Race asked, shifting so that he was laying on his stomach, propped up by his elbows next to Spot’s head. Spot moved away slightly and Race pretended not to notice.

“What gave me away?” Spot mumbled, followed immediately by a yawn. When Race didn’t reply he sat up a little and tilted his head at him. “Why’re you here?”

Race put a hand over his heart in mock offense and gaped. “Can’t I just be makin’ a nice gesture?”

“You ain't usually one to do that."

To be fair, he was right. Race had come in here to test a theory he had, and once he proved himself right, harass Spot for a few hours. But Spot didn’t have to know that any of that was happening, that was the point. 

“Well that’s what I’m doin’ today,” Race snapped, sort of half crawling closer to Spot in a way  _ he thought _ was seductive and cute at the same time. It was not well received.

Spot moved away once Race got closer and frowned. “What are you doin’?”

“What are  _ you  _ doin’?”

It wasn’t his best comeback, and it looked like it confused Spot further, so Race abandoned the original plan and flopped down so his face was pressed into the mattress and groaned. Was is childish and dramatic? Maybe, but drastic time called for drastic measures. And fuck it, Race _was_ childish and dramatic, it was his thing.

“The hell?”

Not moving at Spot’s question, Race mumbled into the mattress. A hand roughly turned him onto his side a second later and Spot had the same frown plastered on his face.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Race, from where he was awkwardly laying on his side, sighed heavily. “I was testin’ somethin’.”

“Testin’ what?”

“If ya always get weird whenever I try and touch you,” Race said meekly, studying Spot's face for some sort of reaction to go off of. 

The harassment part of his plan, as it turned out, was out the window when Spot tried to stutter out a response and failed, actually blushing a little bit into the silence. 

“So you do then,” Race said slowly, sitting up and moving to be cross-legged in front of Spot, who was doing his best to avoid any and all eye contact with Race. “I thought I was imaginin’ it because ya usually act fine when we,  _ y’know _ , but then other time ya get all weird and move away like ya just did, and I figured I oughta-”

“Race?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

He did, settling for watching Spot compose himself, something very few people ever got to see, and tried to make himself look as non-threatening as possible. From the look on Spot’s face when he finally  _ looked  _ at Race again, it didn’t work.

Clearing his throat, he played with the end of his pant leg with nervous fingers before he finally spoke. “Didn’t mean to make ya worry.”

It wasn’t really an answer, and Race pressed slightly. “Nah, I was more confused than anythin’.”

When Race forced himself to not break the silence in the hope that Spot would say something and relieve the tension that had built up in the room, he noticed Spot start to trace the cigar burn on the back of his hand. Oh shit, that made sense actually.

“I ain’t really used to it, I guess,” Spot bit out finally, words tight and clumsy as he refused to looked at Race again. “It ain’t  _ bad _ or nothin’, I guess.”

Race perked up at that. He wasn’t used to anyone withholding affection in the way Spot did, back in Manhattan they all found comfort in it, but if Spot didn’t  _ hate  _ it, maybe he could help. 

“So ya don’t mind when I do it?”

Spot couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable if he tried, eyes flicking to Race before going back to the bed. “I guess.”

“Great!” 

With that, Race laid back down on what a fervent argument had deemed to be his side of the bed, and started pulling at Spot’s blanket.

Spot pulled back and looked down at him, confusion written all over his face. “What are ya doin’?”

Race pulled back harder on the blanket, getting it out of Spot’s grip and pulling it over himself. “It’s gonna rain and I don’t wanna end up gettin’ washed off into the river.”

“So you’se just sleepin’ here?”

Nodding, Race gave Spot a look of half-assed defiance, trying to bait the other boy.

It worked, and Spot snorted, laying down next to Race and pulling at the blanket he was currently hogging. “You’se walkin’ an awful thin line with the hospitality shit, y’know that?”

Race didn’t answer, loosening his grip on the blanket and moving a bit closer to Spot so they their legs brushed a little.

Spot’s tensed for a moment, and when Race looked up at him he rolled his eyes. “You ain’t clever, y’know that, right?”

“Ain’t tryin’ ta be,” Race shot back, stretching out his arms so that one fell across Spot’s chest while he leaned his head on the other and shut his eyes.

“I dunno what you’re tryin’ to do, but it ain’t workin’.”

Not opening his eyes, Race smirked a bit despite himself. “Not doin’ anythin’, long sellin’ day.”

Spot didn’t come back with anything, and Race’s plan was to fake sleep and move closer to Spot, hoping that being unconscious would make Spot somewhat more comfortable touching him. 

Unfortunately, it  _ had  _ been a long selling day, and Race  _ was  _ sort of tired. So, as the minutes passed he felt himself starting to drift off, and it was sort of hard to jerk yourself awake while keeping your eyes closed.

Right before he passed out he blamed the failure on science, it had tired him out. Not the warm room or the vague sound of Spot’s breathing and the rain pattering on the window, but  _ science _ .

* * *

 

A peal of thunder woke Race up, forcing his eyes open and immediately blinking them rapidly. The room had gone dark while he was asleep, and in an attempt to get his bearings he tried to roll onto his back, but found he couldn’t.

Once his eyes adjusted he realized he was staring at Spot’s chest, inches from his own face, and the reason he couldn’t move was Spot had essentially tangled them together. He’s drawn an arm across Race, the other brushing the front of his chest while their legs were crossed over each others.

Grinning, he looked up at Spot’s sleeping face and tried his best to stay still as to not wake him. So he  _ had  _ been right about the unconscious thing. Spot looked as comfortable as Race had ever seen him, curls falling over his face as his chest rose and fell, his grip on Race strong even though he was asleep.

It was the middle of the night though, and Race felt himself start to get pulled back into the darkness slowly. He made the mental note to sleep more in Brooklyn, sure, Jack might slug him one for staying over and not telling him, but he could handle it.

For the first time since Race met Spot he looked completely at ease. Not tense and awkward, but genuinely peaceful and content. 

As he felt his breathing start to even out, synchronizing with Spot’s own, he moved in closer to Spot, grabbing his free hand and squeezing lightly. Baby steps, that was all this was and that was all Race needed. 

And as he fell asleep again, the stupid grin on his face held. If he could bet on it, he’d say it held for the whole rest of the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> this turned out to be fluffier than intended but yknow what?? i regret nothing
> 
> i hope yall enjoyed,, i havent been writing as frequently but Mental Health Is Weird Like That,, but im gonna try and get back into it!!!
> 
> leave kudos/comments if u can!! love yall!!


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